


a seat at the kitchen table

by geguri (lgbtksoo)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Boo Seungkwan/Lee Seokmin | DK, Minor Misunderstandings, Office Worker Jeon Wonwoo, References to Grief/Mourning, Romance, Slow Burn, food and cooking, writing love letters through kimchi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lgbtksoo/pseuds/geguri
Summary: Not for the first time, Wonwoo wonders if this is what it’ll always be like: the promised neverland of a promotion, working 40 hours a week with increasing expectations of overtime, spending the two days—if he’s lucky to get that much—of the weekend on chores and errands and desperate attempts to relax. A persistent lack of energy.Tired and overworked, Wonwoo finds comfort in the taste of homemade kimchi—and love in the boy who delivers them.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi
Comments: 43
Kudos: 105
Collections: South x Southwest: A Soonyoung/Wonwoo Prompt Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [soonwoo2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/soonwoo2020) collection. 



> _PROMPT: soonyoung owns a small home business (of course it has to be kimchi!) where he writes his customers a card. wonwoo is a tired, overworked office employee and wants to treat himself to a warm homemade meal for the weekend and order a jar of kimchi from soonyoung’s shop. wonwoo find himself very touched by soonyoung’s gesture though he knows it wasn’t in any way personal._
> 
> DO NOT INCLUDE: infidelity, bdsm  
> Rating range: anything

* * *

  


_”I love you. I want us both to eat well.” — Christopher Citro, OUR BEAUTIFUL LIFE WHEN IT’S FILLED WITH SHRIEKS_

  


* * *

  
The rhythmic rumble of the train clatters along the dark tunnel with uneasy and strained movements, as if the tracks are heaving and tugging itself along in exasperation, not quite smooth nor carved out for travel. 

Wonwoo can relate. He, too, finds himself forcing his eyelids to stay open, head to stay raised as he steps off the train at his stop with beleaguered movements. Right foot. Left foot. Forward. Forward. Forward. 

The trek from the train station to his tiny 32 _pyeong_ apartment isn’t far. It was one of the draws that led him to sign the papers despite the slightly higher rent for an older building. At times like these, worn down and eroded from yet another long work week, Wonwoo doesn’t regret the price tag attached to the comfort of knowing that each step off the train is one step closer to home. He doesn’t have far to go now.

He sags with relief as soon as he enters his apartment building, even if he has to wait for the old elevator to churn its way down the lobby before clunkily making its way back up to the sixth floor, where he lives. 

Joshua, his next door neighbour, is just waiting for the elevator as Wonwoo exits to their floor. A sympathetic smile curls up at his lips. “Long day?” he asks, brushing past Wonwoo with a gentle pat on his shoulders.

“It was okay,” Wonwoo says. _Okay_ encompasses a lot of things for him, all the incommunicable ways in which it _had_ to be okay because it was too exhausting to think of it as anything else. _Work_ is okay. 

His neighbour seems to get it. “Adulthood, huh,” Joshua says with great feeling just as the doors close. “Enjoy your weekend!” Wonwoo nods at him, a polite goodbye mustered with all the energy he has in his body right now.

Once he’s in the warmth of his own apartment, Wonwoo sheds his coat and shoes before flopping down onto the couch. The seasons are changing and at six in the evening, the sun has already begun to sink below the horizon. Wonwoo elects to stay in the darkness just a bit longer, and he lays there, halfway to dozing off, as he lets his mind drift.

Work was...okay. It was a day like any other, albeit one spent in long meetings with the Chief Financial Officer as they reviewed their year-end financials. The end of the fiscal year is always a busy time, but not so much more than what he’s grown used to. Sometimes, he wonders _why_ he feels so drained after work, but Wonwoo can’t pinpoint the source of the bone-weary exhaustion he feels. The epicentre of all his fatigue. 

Not for the first time, Wonwoo wonders if this is what it’ll always be like: the promised neverland of a promotion, working 40 hours a week with increasing expectations of overtime, spending the two days—if he’s lucky to get that much—of the weekend on chores and errands and desperate attempts to relax. A persistent lack of energy. 

He can practically hear Junhui’s wry chuckle in his head as he thinks this. He pictures his friend, eyes glued to the screen of his phone as he listens to Wonwoo’s complaints. “That’s capitalism for you,” he says, not for the first time. It’s said bluntly, but with sympathy too. Jun’s in the same boat as he is. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

With a noisy sigh, Wonwoo pushes himself off the couch. Stretching his arms above his head, he squeezes his eyes shut until he hears the satisfying crack along his back as he ponders on his choices for dinner. One of the hardest parts of living alone, he’s realized ever since he’s moved out to Seoul, is trying to feed himself each day. He’s never mastered the fine art of cooking, and hardly bothers after work beyond takeout or a quick cup of instant noodles. 

Today, though, he wants something different. Maybe it’s the colder weather, the dregs of summer slipping away for the cool breeze of autumn, or maybe it’s the culmination of long and longer work days. What he’s _really_ craving is the warmth of a home-cooked meal.

The freezer is depressingly barren when he opens it, but Wonwoo finds a ziploc bag of leftover kimchi stew that he froze a couple weeks ago. He searches in the fridge next for anything he could throw into the pot. An old tub of butter sits unopened, now far beyond the expiry date. There’s a bag of grapes that he’ll snack on later if he’s hungry again, but not much in terms of vegetables. His eyes catch onto the bright flash of fabric tucked into the side door, and Wonwoo heaves it out onto the counter in curiosity. 

It’s a medium-sized jar wrapped up neatly in a floral-print fabric, tied off neatly with a bow at the top. Likely, it’s decorative. Wonwoo tugs off one end of the bow and lets the fabric pool on the counter. He picks up the jar curiously. He’d recognize the red wash of liquid and the imprint of cabbage anywhere—it’s kimchi. 

At first, Wonwoo stares in puzzlement at the jar. He has no recollection of buying any kimchi—mostly out of laziness more than anything—or else he’d have been eating it with his instant noodles every night. There’s no labels stuck onto the body of the jar either. It must be homemade, he surmises. 

A vague recollection strikes him. The last time his mom was here, just a month ago, she had mentioned something about getting some kimchi from their neighbours back in Changwon, who had a friend whose great-aunt knew so-and-so’s grandmother. Or something. Wonwoo thinks he recalls something about a new business venture from this connection, and that they had been giving out kimchi to help spread the word. 

Most of the story is lost to him now. The thought of his mom, and what had happened that day, just later in the evening, the look of fury and disappointment on her face when he had— 

Wonwoo cuts the thought off before it sprouts. But maybe that’s another reason why he’s craving homemade food too. His chest aches, and he shakes his head, moving to pick up the jar instead of dwelling further.

He pauses when he notices a thin square piece of paper folded into a smaller square, nestled half-hidden in the folds of the fabric. Setting the jar down, Wonwoo picks up the paper and unfolds it. Messy handwriting is scrawled across the paper, and his heart jolts when he thinks it might be from his mom, but then it settles back down once he registers the unfamiliarity of the handwriting. Squinting at the pen scrawls, Wonwoo scans through the words quickly.

_’Today, the sun felt warm on my skin through the windows as I massaged the kimchi paste into the cabbage leaves. I looked out and saw the blue skies and thought how nice it’ll be when winter comes and all us folks in the village gather to make kimchi together to last us all through the coldest months. That’s my favourite part of the year._

_An old friend of mine tells me that it sounds weird when I describe it as “massage” but I like that it describes how I make this with my own hands. I had a hand in making this kimchi, and now I pass it on to you. Today was a good day for me, and I hope when you eat this kimchi, you will feel the warmth as I did with the sun. If you don’t, that’s okay too. Some days will be warmer than others, I promise you._

_Take care and eat well.’_

And then at the bottom of the card, more carefully written, are the words _Hyewon’s Kimchi_. 

Wonwoo traces over the words again. He imagines an elderly lady taking the time to handwrite a note for each jar she sends out, a ramble of her thoughts captured in a specific moment of time. There’s something home-grown about this, from the kimchi to the ink of writing. 

Curiously, Wonwoo pops open the jar and relishes in the slight hiss of gas being released. He fishes out some of the kimchi and pops it into his mouth. The distinct burst of flavour is ripe on his tongue, a flash of heat from the _gochugaru_ , the crunch of cabbage is a comforting familiarity, as is the shocking warmth of a tangy spice that seeps into the roof of his mouth and rests on his tongue. 

It tastes like how home feels. 

Wonwoo takes another bite, and then another. The kimchi is delicious. It’s a strange thing, he thinks, when he realizes some of the tightly-wound ball inside his chest has eased slightly. It’s strange, how the feeling of home can be infused into food, and how the words of a stranger can feel comforting. 

Later that night, his dinner is the most delicious that he’s tasted in a long, long while.

🍜

Wonwoo pushes open the heavy wooden door. The saturated aroma of deep frying oil, beer, and chicken slams into him as soon as he steps into the busy and bustling restaurant. It’s small enough that he doesn’t have to work too hard to find his friends, and he beelines towards the table pushed against the back wall.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, pulling out the chair next to Jihoon and sliding in with a small grunt. He thanks Seungcheol, who’s sitting across from him, when he slides one of the plates of chicken closer to Wonwoo. 

Jihoon levels him with a flat stare. “You’re paying,” he says bluntly, but then he cracks into a smile to show he’s joking. “It’s fine. Jun just got here too.” 

The other man looks up from where he’s typing out a message on his phone and smiles wryly at Wonwoo. “Hey,” Jun greets him. “One of the dishes is too spicy for them, you gotta finish it with me.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Sure,” he agrees, munching on a pickled radish. He eyes the pitcher of beer by Jun’s elbow. “Pour me some?” he asks, and nods in gratitude when Jun slides the topped-up glass over to him. 

Another long week, and the opportunity to drink with friends is something he’s learned to savour. They’re not able to meet up as often as they used to back in college, but one of the benefits of everyone working a mundane office job with similar hours—with the exception of Jihoon—is that their schedules all generally align with one another. And with Jihoon being able to set his own work hours, it’s not much of an issue at all. 

Jihoon likely came straight from his studio tonight. A baseball cap is jammed over his hair, halfway covering his eyes as he munches on a greasy piece of chicken thigh. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jihoon planned to return to the studio afterwards too. 

There’s always a strange sense of dissonance that comes over him when he sees his friends like this, all of them existing between the lulls of actual _goddamn_ responsibilities. They’ve been out of school for quite some time now, it’s not like it’s _new_. But to see the marks and traces of all the growing up they’ve done over the years—Wonwoo still finds himself startled, out of place, and left slightly unbalanced. 

It’s in the little things: the new watch clasped around Seungcheol’s wrist, clearly expensive even under the dim sheen of lights, and likely gifted to him by his fiancée for their anniversary. Or it’s the way Jun easily orders for another pint of beer and some rabokki because payday was yesterday and they can all _afford_ it, or even in the subtler way Jihoon taps out an unheard rhythm on the table, his mind left part of the way in his studio, still wrapped up in his work.

All of them are nearing their thirties, and Wonwoo still finds himself startled to look in the mirror and realize that his shoulders have filled out his suit now, that the dark circles under his eyes aren’t from sleepless nights spent studying for final exams, and that he’s out there, for all intents and purposes, carrying himself like an adult to the outer world. 

He wonders when he’ll ever feel ready to be in this stage of his life. 

Seungcheol catches his eyes over the rim of his glass, the condensation wet on his fingers as he sets it down and runs his fingers over a napkin. “What’s up?” he asks during a lull in their conversation. 

The older man has always been astute, more attuned to others’ emotions than one would initially expect. As expected from the _president_ of their eSports club during their college days. Wonwoo shrugs, shoves his glasses further up his nose and smiles. “Nothing really,” he says, “Just tired, I think.”

Jihoon makes a soft sound under his breath. It’s barely heard over the din of noise, but Wonwoo can feel the sympathy in his touch when he pats Wonwoo on the arm. “Have you...talked to your mom yet?”

He hadn’t been expecting that question, but maybe he should have—if not but at least to prepare himself for the inevitability of being asked. 

Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Wonwoo shakes his head. “No, I haven’t tried.” He clears his throat. The weight of his friends’ eyes on him feel heavy, and the back of his neck burns with heat. His skin prickles with the discomfort of sudden attention. “Pass me the soy garlic one,” he says instead. He points at the dish in question.

His friends get the hint, and rather than pressing on the subject, Jun passes another pint of beer over to him alongside the plate of fried chicken. “Drink up,” he says, his eyes soft with sympathy. “You deserve it.” 

It startles a wry laugh from him, and Wonwoo grabs the glass. The condensation feels like a cool relief in the suddenly too-hot room. He lets the taste of lager sit on his tongue, washing down some of the wayward thoughts that have been distracting him. A tinge of guilt simmers in him, at being lost in his thoughts when he’s here to have a good time with his friends.

Wonwoo straightens up. He shoves some of the fried chicken in his mouth, chewing through the layers of grease and crispy skin, savouring the sweet and savoury sauce as he swallows. “So,” he says, turning to Seungcheol, “How is wedding planning going?”

Seungcheol brightens up. Him and his fiancée are the least stressed wedding planners he’s ever seen, and Wonwoo thinks that being married will be a good look on him. They take to the turn in conversation seamlessly, and Wonwoo breathes a sigh of relief when the atmosphere returns to its lighter tone. It’s not that he can’t trust his friends, or that he can’t confide in them. He can, and he does. But he spends so much time trapped in his own head, sometimes he just needs to— to be pulled out sometimes. 

The night wears on. Sitting in the booth behind him, a rowdy younger man—a college student on a night-out, Wonwoo thinks—loses a drinking game. He lets out a roar of displeasure, and the sudden raucous startles Seungcheol, who drops his piece of _yangnyeom_ chicken onto his crisp white shirt. As Jihoon and Wonwoo burst into laughter, Jun shakes his head at them fondly and orders two things: a wad of napkins, and more beer. 

“How are you the oldest of all of us,” Jihoon chokes out, eyes squeezed shut in laughter.

Seungcheol pouts at them, wiping futilely at the stained shirt. “Age has nothing to do with this,” and is only soothed when Jun shoves another pint glass into his hands. 

Maybe, Wonwoo thinks, his heart fond as he studies his friends around the table, it isn’t so bad to grow up either. Not when he’s lucky enough to grow alongside these people. Maybe he’s doing okay for himself, if he’s found himself company with them all this time.

🍜

The balm of comfort is short-lived, lasting as long as the weekend and dissipating as soon as the week begins all over again. On Wednesday, Wonwoo groans as the clock steadily ticks past 5 o’clock. He rolls back in his chair and rubs his eyes underneath his glasses. 

“Cheer up,” Jeonghan says, walking past him with a sheath of paper fresh from the printer. “Hump day is almost over. Only two more days until the weekend!” 

Wonwoo sighs, blinking blearily at his colleague when he stops by his desk. “If I look at another spreadsheet, I’m going to implode,” he intones. 

Jeonghan laughs. “I’ll trade you. I’ll take the number-crunching if you review these proposals for me. This is the fourth time the board has changed their mind on the scope of this project and I have to get this done by today.” 

Wrinkling his nose, Wonwoo shakes his head. “Again?” he says, sympathetically. A glance around the office shows that about half the staff have already left for the day. They’ve now officially trickled into overtime. “How long do you think you’ll have to stay for?”

“Hopefully not more than an hour.” Jeonghan waves the stack of papers in the air with a rustle. “I haven’t taken a close look at their edits yet. Maybe it’ll be quick.” He squints at Wonwoo’s screen and grimaces at the rows and rows of numbers. “What about you?”

Wonwoo shares that sentiment. He heaves out a sigh, returning his hand back to the mouse. “Not much longer, I think. Just gotta fix up some formulas and then I can submit this.” 

Jeonghan smiles down at him with a knowing look on his face. He knows he must look exhausted if Jeonghan doesn’t even try to corral him into staging a walk-out as a joke. “Hang in there,” he says. “Treat yourself to something nice tonight.”

Thankfully, Wonwoo is able to wrap up his work in only half an hour and he hits the _send_ button with a sense of vengeance. A glance at his to-do list for tomorrow almost makes him want to cry in frustration, but Wonwoo firmly closes his planner and tucks it away in the drawer. That’s for future-Wonwoo to deal with. 

The light in Jeonghan’s office is still on. With a few more minutes to spare before he heads out to catch the train, he heads towards the small kitchenette and turns on the electric kettle. Sometimes Jeonghan prefers a warm cup of milk, but they’ve been out of milk at the office for a week. Once the water has finished boiling, he prepares a toasty cup of mugwort tea. The roasted scent is comforting, and Wonwoo lets the warmth seep into his hands as he carries the mug into Jeonghan’s office. 

His colleague looks up at the sound of his footsteps. “All done?” he asks, adjusting his glasses. 

Wonwoo nods and sets down the mug of tea. “For you,” he says. His mouth tugs up in the corner. “I hope you can go home soon, hyung.”

The wide-eyed look of surprise on Jeonghan’s face melts into something smaller, softer, and filled with appreciation. “Thanks,” he says, looking up at Wonwoo gratefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Wonwoo throws a wave over his shoulder as he heads out the door and towards the elevator.

By the time he arrives back home, the skies are dark enough that the streetlights flicker above him as he treads down the back alley that winds towards his apartment building. He’s hungry enough to pad into the kitchen as soon as he enters his home, dropping his bag to the floor while he shoves his feet into a pair of slippers. He fills a pot with water, setting it down on the stove as he digs out a packet of ramyeon from his pantry. At this point, it’s habit for him to reach into his fridge for the jar of kimchi, and he’s disappointed when he pulls out a nearly empty jar. 

There’s only a few pieces of kimchi left swimming in the dredges of the kimchi juice. He digs them out with a pair of chopsticks and sets it aside in a small bowl to eat with his dinner. Turning his attention back to the now-empty jar, Wonwoo studies it with a frown as he turns it over in his hands. 

Reluctance pulls at him. Maybe it was the comforting note, or his general feelings of melancholy skewing his taste buds or _something_ , but the taste of kimchi—of Hyewon’s Kimchi—has made his meals more palatable lately. He wonders if it’s possible to order more, and Wonwoo sets the jar down in favour of digging up the small handwritten note that came with it. 

He finds it tucked away in a drawer where he kept the fabric as well. His eyes trace over the messy pen scrawl before landing at the signature. Right underneath the name, _Hyewon’s Kimchi_ , is what appears to be a KakaoTalk ID. No website, no phone number. The impression he had was that it was a self-run business; the idea of an elderly woman in rural Korea running her business through KakaoTalk is a strange one.

With some trepidation, Wonwoo pulls out his phone and taps onto the app to carefully type in the ID. _Hello, may I ask if this is this Hyewon?_ , he types out, the words formal and polite. 

He manages to finish cooking the ramyeon, adding in a few slices of spam, before he receives a response. Sitting down on the couch, Wonwoo reads the message. 

_hello! hyewon is my grandmother’s name~ ^^ i am kwon soonyoung, how may i help you? is this for kimchi? ^^_. 

That makes more sense. Her grandson must be helping her with some of the business operations. Wonwoo lets the rich and salty broth of his ramyeon sit on his tongue as he responds. _Hello Soonyoung. I was wondering if I would be able to order another jar of kimchi? I received the first one as a gift. My apologies if this is not an appropriate way to order._

The reply comes quicker this time. _you’re in the right place! where are you located?_

 _Seoul._

Kwon Soonyoung takes a little longer to type out his response, and he’s surprised when he receives a brightly lit photo of a jar packed full with kimchi, similar in size to the one sitting on Wonwoo’s counter. A small hand is posed right next to it with a thumbs up. Another text follows shortly after, _we’re trying to stay environmentally friendly and reduce waste. i have a service where i pick up your old jar to be reused ^^ i can deliver your new jar right to you at the same time!_

For a moment, Wonwoo hesitates. In the new digital age, he’s used to quick deliveries and shipments that require the minimum level of human interaction. It feels worse to refuse a project that strives to be kinder to the environment though, so Wonwoo shrugs, and asks for more details. 

According to Kwon Soonyoung, he delivers weekly to Seoul. They set a tentative date and time—Saturday in the late afternoon—for Soonyoung to swing by with his new order of kimchi. Wonwoo wonders if this is how his mother’s friend or whoever got the kimchi too, with the filial grandson running around the peninsula, delivering them all personally. 

It’s a strange way to run a business, but the personal touch in a tiny family-run business is a little sweet. At least, he thinks, he’ll have more kimchi again.

🍜

“Waiting for a text from someone?” Jeonghan asks him a couple days later during his lunch break. Startled, Wonwoo jerks his head up from his phone and catches sight of his coworker rummaging through the shared snacks cupboard. He hadn’t even heard him walk into the room.

Flushing, Wonwoo sets his phone back down onto the table with the screen facing down. “Not really,” he answers blithely, and shovels another bite of rice into his mouth. 

Jeonghan returns a look that’s clear in his disbelief. “Sure,” he says, tearing into a packet of crackers. He offers one to Wonwoo and shrugs when he refuses. “Whatever it is, good luck with it. I should get back to work.” Pushing himself off of the counter, he heads back out to the office with a waggle of his fingers. 

Huffing out a laugh, Wonwoo turns back to his phone and flips it over again. Jeonghan’s probably the closest thing to a friend that he has at this job. Although they work in different departments, Jeonghan has always been kind, if not a little mischievous. One day, he’s going to introduce him to Joshua. They’re both too good at sliding judgmental looks his way without actually saying anything. 

But with Jeonghan no longer in the kitchen, Wonwoo returns his attention to his phone again. The chat window is still up when he unlocks his phone. His eyes scan over his brother’s text, the words now only registering faintly as he rereads it for the nth time . _Do you think you’ll visit home any time soon?_

Sent 20 minutes ago, when his break first started. Still unanswered. It’s sent through a personal text message rather than their family group chat, which has been nearly silent for almost a month now. 

Wonwoo taps out the words _What about m—_ and then erases it. A sigh falls from his lips. He stares at the white chat bubble on the cornflower blue background. Another coworker shuffles into the kitchen and smiles awkwardly at him as he seats himself at the table across from Wonwoo with his own lunch. Wonwoo should finish up and return to work soon. 

_Maybe_ , he writes out instead, and presses send before he can overthink it. He locks his phone and places it face down again, turning his attention back to his lunch. At least with working at a cushy corporate position, the building is surrounded by plenty of restaurants with an option for takeout. But the next spoonful of rice and chicken karaage is dry on his tongue, the rounded sweet flavours of soy and mirin no longer as delicious now that his food has gone cold a little, and he washes it down with a sip of tea. He eats it all anyway. 

His phone vibrates just as soon as he’s cleaning up his dishes. This time, Wonwoo lets himself ignore the notification and returns back to all the invoices he had been avoiding. He doesn’t bother checking until he gets back home again. 

_Ok_ , his brother said. _Let me know, ok? I’ll talk to mom and dad._

Later that night, there’s no kimchi to eat with the bibimbap he had ordered on his way home. The grease of the takeout container sticks to the plastic bag, and Wonwoo wrinkles his nose as he dumps the food into a bowl to microwave. 

He’s still hungry when he’s done.

🍜

Wonwoo almost misses it at first; he’s too immersed in an impromptu game of _Project Winter_ , coordinating with Junhui while plotting the eventual death of Seungcheol’s character through poisoning. Over the scratchy sound of Junhui’s voice through the in-game walkie talkie, Wonwoo belatedly registers the sound of knocking. 

“Sorry guys, I think I have to go,” he says, ripping off his headset to the faint protests from his friends. He leaves the game running on his computer just in case, but nearly trips over his bag in his haste to get to the door. 

The knocking pauses. Wonwoo hopes they didn’t leave—but when he swings the door open, he’s greeted by the sight of a young man on the other side, his hand raised in the air and poised for another knock. The boy blinks in shock, his mouth falling open slightly, before his hand falls to his side. “Hello, is this Jeon Wonwoo’s house?” he asks brightly. His cheeks bunch up into a smile, the roundness of his face lending to a youthfulness to his features. 

“Yes,” Wonwoo answers, a little more hesitantly. He studies the other man. He’s not dressed in anything fancy; slim black jeans and an oversized graphic tee that’s half-tucked into his jeans. A faint sheen of sweat is beaded along his forehead. Cradled in the safety of his arms is an object neatly wrapped up in a floral cloth, tied off with a bow at the top. 

“Great! I’m Kwon Soonyoung!” He rocks the object in his arms gently, like one would do to a baby or a particularly tiny cat, and beams up at Wonwoo with a wide, toothy smile. “I think this is for you? Your kimchi?” His voice rises up at the end in a question, but the smile on his lips doesn't falter.

He’s a little earlier than Wonwoo had been expecting, with it just being shortly after twelve in the afternoon, and also younger than Wonwoo had imagined too. With his casual clothing and the bright smile on his face, Wonwoo has a hard time pinpointing his age. Somewhere in between college student and Wonwoo’s age, maybe. And he’s— he’s _cute_. Wonwoo tries not to tamp down on that thought. 

“Let me take that from you,” Wonwoo offers, and grabs hold of the jar from Soonyoung’s arms. He hesitates, and with a tinge of awkwardness, Wonwoo glances into his apartment and then back at Soonyoung. “Um, do you want to come in while I get you the old jar? I cleaned it and everything.”

Soonyoung perks up a little, but then shakes his head. “It’s okay, I can just wait out here,” he says. “Thank you though!”

“Okay,” says Wonwoo. A beat of silence passes where they just look at each other. A hint of confusion flashes on Soonyoung’s face, and it’s enough to jolt Wonwoo into action. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gestures behind him. “I’ll— uh—” And then he turns around and beelines to his kitchen. The tip of his ears burn with embarrassment. 

The second of cool air from his refrigerator offers a brief reprieve as he hauls the new jar of kimchi into the fridge. He closes the door and grabs the emptied jar from where it sits on the counter, and with a deep breath, he makes his way back to the door. 

Soonyoung is still standing in the hallway where Wonwoo had left him. His attention is caught by something on his phone, mouth jutted in a tiny pout as he tilts his head, studying the screen with a focused look. He looks up when Wonwoo returns and the smile returns at full-blast. “Thank you,” he says gratefully, as if Wonwoo is the one doing him a favour, when he passes him the jar and the cash for payment. “Wow, you really cleaned it! That’s so great of you!”

His eyes seem to sparkle as he looks up at Wonwoo. Shifting on his feet, Wonwoo nods. The level of enthusiasm feels at odds with how minor the act was—but somehow, Soonyoung, comes across as genuinely appreciative, rather than an overenthusiastic customer service employee. Like what Wonwoo did was actually thoughtful, rather than just standard etiquette. 

“It’s no problem,” Wonwoo says, and then, “Is— Is everything okay? With your phone?” The words escape from him before he has the wits to pull them back, and Wonwoo promptly wants to kick himself. It’s hardly any of his business, even if Soonyoung’s pout was cute, and whatever it is, he’s sure he wouldn’t want to share with a stranger. 

But Soonyoung doesn’t seem offended or uncomfortable, If anything, he looks sheepish. A light blush dusts the tops of his round cheeks. “You saw?” he asks, sounding a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing, I was just trying to check the directions to my next delivery but couldn’t figure out how to change the app settings. I wanted it to be the simplest driving route instead of the fastest, but I kept messing up the address instead.” He cuts off his ramble with a small laugh, peering at Wonwoo a little shyly. “I’m kinda bad with tech.”

“Oh, um, do you need any help?” Wonwoo asks, but cringes internally at himself as soon as he says so. Hopefully Soonyoung doesn’t think he’s some creep. The poor guy probably just wants to get on with his deliveries and finish his work for his grandmother, not entertain some overworked office employee in his pajamas.

Soonyoung shakes his head, but his smile is kind. “It’s okay, I’ll figure it out slowly. Thank you though.” Lifting up the empty jar in his hands, he nods towards the elevator. “I should probably go. How was the kimchi? Did you like it?”

Wonwoo straightens up. “It was delicious,” he answers honestly, and his mouth curves into a small smile as if just by the memory of the kimchi itself. “I don’t cook much, but eating the kimchi, it— it reminded me a little bit of home. I think.” And it’s true. Although the kimchi he grew up eating in Gyeongsang-do tastes slightly different, more briny and savoury from the use of _myeolchijeo_ in the region, there’s something undeniably charming about Hyewon’s Kimchi. “Your grandmother is very skilled.”

“My grandmothe— oh!” A momentary look of confusion is replaced with a warm look on Soonyoung’s face. His cheeks bunch up again from the weight of his smile, his eyes curving into crescents. He flushes a pleased pink. “Thank you. She would have been happy to hear that. It’s a family thing.” There’s an unmistakable note of pride in his voice.

Even from the look on his face, Wonwoo can tell how much Soonyoung must love his family. “That’s really great,” says Wonwoo. His words feel inadequate, but Soonyoung’s grin brightens anyway. “Sorry, I won’t hold you back any longer. You probably have a busy day.” 

Soonyoung waves him off as he takes a step back. “No, this is one of my favourite parts about this business. Just meeting people and talking to them.” He turns towards the other end of the hallway where the elevator is located. Wonwoo catches a glimpse of Soonyoung’s smile as he walks away, calling over his shoulder, “Thanks again, Wonwoo! Just message me on Kakao next time you want an order.” And then with a tone akin to pride, he excitedly shouts, ”We’re modernizing!” 

He escapes down the hallway, and somehow, his presence leaves Wonwoo strangely winded. Soonyoung is—interesting—he thinks, but the answering warmth in his face isn’t expected. Wonwoo pushes the feeling away. He has no energy for that, not even when it’s a cute, sweet boy who loves his grandma. 

Shutting the door behind him, he walks back into his kitchen and takes out the new jar of kimchi that’s carefully wrapped in cloth. He unties the cloth, setting it down on the counter in a neat folded pile. Once again, there’s a small square piece of paper with handwritten words scrawled across the note in blue pen. Wonwoo picks it up with a smile.

_I had a bad day today. It wasn’t anything in particular that made it bad, just that the clouds felt gloomy today and the small plot I live on feels empty in a way it usually doesn’t. Friends tell me I’m still adjusting, grieving. But I love being surrounded by my village, the cluck of the chickens, the sound of the farmers up at sunrise to sow their seeds, the jingle of the bicycle as the mailman sails through our little village. It’s why I chose to stay here. Today, though, felt a little grey._

_I didn’t want to infuse these emotions into this batch of kimchi. Kimchi-making is taught by our elders, from grandmother to daughters—although my own grandmother was never quite a traditionalist in that sense—and so to honour my ancestors, I always want to nurture the food I create with love. I’m not sure if I succeeded in this batch, but I did my best. Not the best I could have possibly done ever, but the best that I was capable at this time. I hope that is enough._

_Take care and eat well._

_\- Hyewon’s Kimchi_

Unscrewing the lid of the jar, Wonwoo reaches in with his bare hands and picks up a sliver of cabbage with his fingers. He pops it into his mouth. The taste of the _gochugaru_ is stronger this time, sharp on his palate, but no less delicious. He can taste the warmth.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wonwoo?” 

The sudden call of his name startles him. Wonwoo pulls his eyes away from the newly released spicy tteokbokki-flavoured ramyeon he had been eyeing, and turns around to see Joshua walking up to him, a basket clutched in his hands. Joshua smiles as he waves at him. 

“Hey,” Joshua says, once he reaches him. His basket is stacked to the brim with vegetables and fruits, the marbling of beef packed behind styrofoam and plastic wrap. “Just doing some grocery shopping?” 

Wonwoo resists the urge to hide his basket from sight. The twenty packs of buldak ramyeon seem condemning all of a sudden. “Yeah, just doing a quick sweep through before heading home to make some lunch,” he says, stifling back some of the embarrassment that arises from the stark differences between their grocery choices.

Under the bright lights of their neighbourhood’s closest Emart, Wonwoo is starkly aware that the only reason why he ventured out this weekend was because he ran out of ramyeon at home, and the only thing remaining in his fridge is a carton of eggs that he finished three days ago. The rumbling of his stomach pushed him out of his home. 

It’s not that Wonwoo doesn’t know how to take care of himself, he finds himself thinking defensively, maybe even a little scornfully when he looks at his collection of instant and processed foods. it’s just that he’s been running on limited time. Soon, the weekend will be over, his floors will still not be vacuumed, and he will be back at work. 

But at least his fridge and pantry will be marginally stocked. 

When he had been younger, Wonwoo had imagined the glamour of living in Seoul as an adult to include countless food options, a vast menu of delicious meals from all corners of the globe, late-night dinner parties with friends that boast of even better food than the last, and the joy of independence to sweeten the cherry on top. Sure, Wonwoo has a facsimile of that in the restaurants near work, or in his friendships with Jun, Jihoon, and Seungcheol. But he certainly hadn’t realized how much of his adulthood would be spent making the same shortcuts as he did in college—except instead of saving money, he’s now desperately trying to save time. 

He notices Joshua glance briefly at the basket, but he seems to take it all in stride. The expression on his face doesn’t change, and it’s only a mild relief that there’s no judgment there; Joshua’s too nice for that. 

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Joshua asks. He smiles a little, looking down at his basket when Wonwoo shakes his head. “Wanna come over? I’m making pasta for lunch. There’s plenty for two.” 

It’s a tempting offer—Joshua’s an amazing cook—but Wonwoo shakes his head. “I should get going,” he says, “I should finish up some chores that I’ve been putting off back home.” 

With the strain of work leaving him exhausted by the end of each week, he’s been neglecting the chores that have piled up over time. When he had eyed the pile of dirty laundry that’s towering precariously inside his laundry hamper that morning, Wonwoo knows he shouldn’t put it off any longer.

Joshua laughs a little. “Don’t remind me, I haven’t mopped the floors in too long.” He raises his brows. “You sure?” Wonwoo nods. Joshua shrugs, his smile kind. “You know where to find me then if you change your mind.”

They chat for a few minutes more before Joshua says he has to get going. Wonwoo picks up the rest of the items on his list: eggs, more milk, a few frozen and boxed meals that catch his eyes. He starts to head towards the checkout counter and cuts through the produce section as a shortcut. His pace slows as he passes by the fermented products shelf: miso, soybean paste, ginger, pickled onions, kimchi. 

Wonwoo pauses. He thinks back to the kimchi in his fridge, served to the side of his frozen and instant meals. Suddenly, it feels like a disservice to Hyewon and to Soonyoung—a thought that makes him wince internally as soon as it crosses his mind. They’re strangers to him, and yet, he finds himself turning back around and heading for the fresh produce. 

The fruits are overpriced as always—he’ll pass by one of the street vendors owned by an auntie later instead—but this time, he doesn’t walk past the cucumbers, the chrysanthemum greens, the spinach, or zucchinis, or soybean sprouts. 

Maybe, Wonwoo thinks, he can cook something for himself this time. A rice dish or a stew where he can throw everything into one pot and let it bubble away on the stove; something small, simple, and easy to do.

🍜

It’s another two weeks before Wonwoo finishes the small jar of kimchi. 

In the meantime, he continues his routine of waking up at six in the morning for work, toiling away until the sun begins to set and his eyes feel raw and tired from staring at a screen for so long, and then returning home with his back aching and shoulders stiff. 

The days are easier with the coworkers that he likes, and better when he gets to decompress by a few gaming nights with his friends. They haven’t had time to meet up for drinks and food lately, but first person shooters are a near-substitute. 

All the while, Wonwoo eats kimchi with his meals with a newfound dedication that he never had ever since he moved out and no longer had full time access to the _banchan_ his mother—or some of their neighbourhood aunties who would exclaim that the poor Jeon sons were _far_ too skinny, get some meat on those bones, will you—would store in their fridge. When he’s particularly lazy with cooking, he even eats it as a snack. If Wonwoo wasn’t mildly worried that the smell of fermentation would fill up the train during his commutes, he’d probably take some of the kimchi to work too. 

He sends a message to Soonyoung over KakaoTalk at the start of the week. It takes the other boy a few hours to respond, but his texts sound as enthusiastic as he comes across in person; sent in short snippets and accompanied by little emojis. _’i can come by on saturday again! does the same time work for you~^^?_. 

Wonwoo wonders if there will be another note this time too. _’Okay, thank you.’_ he replies. Then, tentatively, he adds a “🙂.“

The week ends uneventfully, and Saturday swings around without much fanfare. This time when Wonwoo catches the echo of knocking on his door at the top of the afternoon, he’s ready to answer it. 

Without thinking too much about it, he pauses in front of the mirror in his narrow hallway to straighten himself out a little first. He’d shaved off some stubble and put on some comfortable but casual clothing. Once he realizes what he’s doing, Wonwoo shakes his head, embarrassed with himself, and heads directly for the door.

The tips of his ears burn red when he pulls the door open. Soonyoung is standing in the hallway, his cheeks flushed pink from the chilly autumn air with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s in a soft-looking cardigan and a pair of worn jeans this time. His arms are wrapped around a familiar jar in the same printed cloth. He looks cozy.

Soonyoung’s eyes light up at the sight of Wonwoo. “Happy Saturday!” he bursts out enthusiastically, raising the jar in his arms a little as if to show it off. His face shines with excitement like there’s nowhere else he’d like to be than delivering his grandma’s little jars of homemade kimchi.

“Hi Soonyoung,” Wonwoo returns a little more quietly. He smiles at him and shrugs the door open a little more so that he can lean against the doorframe better. “How’s your week been?” 

Soonyoung preens a little, grinning and bright-eyed at the question. “I have a total of ten deliveries today,” he tells Wonwoo proudly. “This is the most orders I’ve ever received!” And he looks _so_ happy about this, Wonwoo can’t help but smile back reflexively as well. His energy is contagious.

“That’s amazing,” Wonwoo says, and he finds himself meaning every word. “Congratulations.” He can barely remember what his mom told him about the kimchi when she gave it to him, but he recalls that it’s a new business. With the competition in Seoul, Wonwoo doubts it’s easy to start a small local business like Soonyoung’s grandmother did. 

His bright smile shifts into something milder, something more quietly pleased than boastful. Soonyoung looks a little more shy. “Ah, thank you. Really, it’s nothing much, I know.” 

A thought occurs to Wonwoo. It would be nice to help spread the word somehow. Joshua has his own cooking YouTube channel and Wonwoo remembers him saying that word-of-mouth was the best kind of exposure. “Do you have a website or anything?” asks Wonwoo. He pushes his glasses up and takes out his phone. “Or social media?” He’s not big on social media himself, but it couldn’t hurt.

A shade of sheepishness hovers about Soonyoung’s face. “Ah, no website,” he says, shrugging lightly, “I thought about it, but ah, technology...” he trails off a little.

Right. The thought of Soonyoung’s elderly grandmother finicking with a website while being busy to create kimchi is a silly thought. He doesn’t know if Soonyoung has another job or not either—Wonwoo can see how it wouldn’t be a high priority. 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo apologizes, wincing a little. Maybe he shouldn’t try to interfere in a stranger’s business. “I didn’t mean to butt in or anything.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen and he waves his hand in the air. “No, no—you didn’t.” He’s quick to reassure Wonwoo. “I hadn’t thought of social media though,” he continues, a thoughtful look appears on his face, “Thanks, Wonwoo. You’re a really nice person.” His smile widens again, stretching across his cheeks. 

For some reason, the sight of his cheerful smile flusters Wonwoo. His cheeks colour, and Wonwoo glances down at his hands. He tries to shrug it off. “I’m just—not really,” he hedges, scrabbling for words, and then decides to change the conversation topic altogether. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself any further. “Sorry, I’m holding you back again. Let me get you the money and jar, and I’ll take that one,” he says, eyeing the jar still in Soonyoung’s hands. 

He takes them from Soonyoung’s proffered hands with a thanks and rushes back into his apartment. It only takes a couple of seconds to swap the jar with his cleaned one, and he quickly returns to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung reaches out and takes the items out of Wonwoo’s hand. He peers up, tilting his head to the side. “Thanks again, Wonwoo,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes are a pretty crescent moon, the dusted pink across the bridge of his nose highlights the curve of his cheeks. Happiness lights up his face. “I’m so glad you like the kimchi so far. It means a lot, really.” 

And just like last time, the earnestness with which Soonyoung speaks throws Wonwoo off. Soonyoung seems to approach each exchange with a level of heartfeltness that he doesn’t quite know how to respond; a genuine happiness as if Wonwoo’s doing Soonyoung a favour or fulfilling a life _dream_ —or something. It’s hard not to feel like Soonyoung’s appreciation is more than Wonwoo deserves, but in the same breath, Wonwoo can’t help the resulting warmth that colors his cheeks either. 

If there’s one thing that’s clear to Wonwoo, it’s that Soonyoung isn’t just helping out with his grandma’s business out of mere filial piety. Even the way he speaks about the kimchi, the deliveries, even the way he responds to Wonwoo’s quiet praise of the kimchi—Soonyoung unmistakably _cares_ about all of it. He’s carrying out this job with a single-minded clarity and passion that Wonwoo admires. Even more so when he, himself, regards his own trajectory life with a sense of placidity, devoid of much passion at all.

Wonwoo’s answering smile feels a little less hesitant this time. More real. “It’s my pleasure, Soonyoung.” And he, too, means it.  
  
  
 _”In Korea, the act of kimchi-making is passed down from mothers to daughters, grandmothers to granddaughters. I grew up watching my mother with red-dusted hands and stained from the _gochugaru_ , running her hands through the broad leaves of cabbage that would later be stored in the refrigerator. Grandmother used to say kimchi should be fermented in _onggi_ , that that’s the proper way to make kimchi. That, and making it with your family and your neighbours. My mother would laugh and say we’re modernizing now._

_These were the memories that circulated in my mind as I created this jar of kimchi for you today. This was made with my grandmother’s _gochugaru_ and the cabbages that my mother helped plant in the ground this Spring. This is the collective work and memory of my family that I gift to you today. I hope you enjoy this act of love._

_Eat well and take care.  
\- Hyewon’s Kimchi”_

🍜

It feels a little silly, but Wonwoo brings the three notes he received with the kimchi jars to work. Just as he had felt the first day he found the jar of kimchi in his fridge, there’s something about the handwritten words, in its messy scrawl across the note paper, that brings comfort to him. Maybe it’s the distant knowledge that it’s a loving family business, reinforced with his brief acquaintance with Soonyoung—the kimchi maker’s _grandson_ —that lends a growing attachment to the words. 

His friends, and Jihoon especially, had always told him that he’s a lot more sentimental than he comes across. It used to be a point of embarrassment for him, but there’s a palpable warmth behind those inky letters that somehow make his work days go by a little easier. With some amazement, Wonwoo realizes it’s the same kind of genuine heartfelt authenticity that underlies Soonyoung’s words. It must be a family trait. 

“What is that?” Chan, the administrative assistant at their company, asks him. He leans over the wall of Wonwoo’s cubicle, a curious look on his face as he peers at the three notes pinned to the wall. In his hand is a gross-looking protein shake. 

He tries not to let himself get embarrassed. “Nothing,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound defensive. “Just some— motivational notes.” He immediately feels stupid saying it like that. 

Chan looks intrigued, perking up and walking around the cubicle properly to read them properly. “Is this from your partner or something?” he asks, squinting at the words. “No offense, but their handwriting is _seriously_ messy.”

He would get offended on Soonyoung’s grandmother’s behalf, but Chan isn’t wrong. The handwriting is nearly illegible. But it’s part of the charm of a small local business owner, he thinks. “No partner,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure an elderly lady wrote this,” he says, pointing out the signature. _Hyewon’s Kimchi_.

Squinting his eyes nearly shut, Chan studies the name. His face lights up with surprise. “Oh cool! Is this like— she sells kimchi, or something?” He takes his phone and types something into the search bar. “No results on Naver,” says Chan, showing his screen to Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo shrugs, eyeing the phone screen with disinterest. “Yeah, her grandson does all the deliveries. He said the tech part of it is too much. Probably since it’s a tiny countryside business. It sounds like it’s just the two of them. Their kimchi is really good though.”

Chan hums and leans closer to read the notes again. “These notes are sweet,” he muses, glancing back at Wonwoo. He taps a finger on his chin in thought. “Can I place an order too? I’m kinda curious about it now.” 

A nasty, juvenile side to him instinctively wants to say no, the part of him that used to covet indie bands and underground bookstores for himself, like the quality of experience would decrease if he shared it with others. It makes no sense, but a small part of him wants to keep Hyewon’s Kimchi to himself. 

But he’s an adult, even if he sometimes doesn’t _feel_ like one. And from what he knows about Soonyoung and his grandmother, it’s that they deserve for their food to be tasted and for their business to boom. “Sure,” Wonwoo says instead, reaching for his own phone hidden in his top desk drawer. “You can contact them through KakaoTalk and just place an order through there.” He sends the contact information to Chan. “They pick up your used jars too, it’s pretty cool.”

“Hey, eco-friendly. That’s pretty cool. Thanks!” Chan says, raising his fist for a fistbump. He returns it reluctantly, rolling his eyes. “I wonder if she personalizes each note.” Chan pauses, rereading the notes again, his lips moving silently as he does so. “You think someone’s ever written her back?” 

Wonwoo blinks at him in surprise. “What?”

“You said they take the jars back, right?” Chan nods his head at the notes, passing a thoughtful glance over them. “If I were her, I’d love to hear what my customers think.” 

Chan is just thinking out loud, but Wonwoo finds himself considering it as a suggestion. He dismisses the idea at first. The last thing he wants is to come across as some weird customer who’s trying to create a penpal out of an old lady who’s just trying to run her own small business. At the bright look on Chan’s face though, he pauses to briefly consider it. 

Somehow, the expression reminds him of Soonyoung and the way his eyes _dance_ with excitement whenever he talks about the kimchi. If Hyewon is anything like her grandson, maybe she would find it a nice gesture too. A little thank-you note. Just something small for Wonwoo to give back to her.

“That’s...actually not a bad idea,” Wonwoo says eventually, slowly, like he’s testing the words out himself. His words make Chan perk up, a smile gracing his face. “I don’t want to burden her though...”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Chan reassures him, waving his hand in the air as if shooing away his worries. The protein shake wobbles in his hand, and Wonwoo shoots a concerned look when it almost spills out of his bottle. “Look how much care she puts into her notes. She’d probably be happy to hear how much her customers like her stuff.”

Wonwoo exhales. “Maybe.” He glances at his computer. The number of unread emails pulls a sigh from his lips. “I should probably get back to work first though.” 

“Gross,” Chan says, wincing. “Have fun with that. I’ll leave you to it. I’m heading out for lunch with Jeonghan later, join us?” 

Nodding, Wonwoo waves at him when Chan heads to the other side of the office. He turns back to his computer with another heaving sigh. He stretches his arms above his head and hears the relieving crack in his back. Work, again.  
  
  
 _”Hello, I hope it’s okay to write a note in return. I just wanted to thank you for your handwritten notes and for your kimchi. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. Although I know they’re not personal, your words carry a sense of warmth to them that comfort me, even all the way in Seoul. Whenever I have your kimchi, I can taste the love and home that you—as you said in your last note—gift to me. So, thank you for your gift. Your kimchi is wonderful._

_I’m sorry, I’m a bit embarrassed because my words are lacking a little. But I wanted to express my gratitude to you too. And to Soonyoung too. Thank you for your hard work._

_Take care.  
\- Jeon Wonwoo”_

🍜

His friends squeeze into his cramped apartment for dinner on Friday evening. Seungcheol laughs at the groggy expression on his face, shoving a six-pack of beer into his hands. “Were you napping?” he asks. 

Wonwoo grunts and takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He’s gotten into the habit of napping as soon as he gets home from work to recharge some energy. “Yeah, was tired.” His voice is slightly hoarse from sleep, and he clears his throat. “Where’s Jiwon?”

“She’s out with some friends,” Seungcheol responds. He looks wounded when Jihoon shoves him out of the way to make room for him and Junhui at the door, pinching his sides in retaliation. Wonwoo rolls his eyes fondly. “But she’s the one who picked up the six-pack.”

“You’re marrying an angel,” Junhui says to Seungcheol, toeing off his shoes and padding into the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to order in or cook, but I brought some _soondae_ for us to share.” 

Seungcheol grins and finally walks into the apartment, letting the door fall shut behind him. “I really am.” He clusters close to the kitchen counters and snatches a piece of _soondae_ from the takeout container with his fingers. “You better get us something good off the wedding registry.”

Jihoon laughs and rolls his eyes. “Seungcheol will probably send a text to our group chat with a sad face if we don’t.” His words are scored with a sense of affection though, as they usually are. Wonwoo ignores the squawk coming from Jihoon when Seungcheol wraps his arm around his neck in a playful chokehold though, choosing to scroll through his food delivery app instead.

He originally planned to cook with some of the ingredients he bought over the weekend, but one look into his fridge and Wonwoo gave that idea up quickly. On days like these where his eyes feel worn and aching from the glare of the screen, his back sore from sitting poorly in a chair, his shoulders slumped with the weight of a tiring day upon him, he’s always struggled to find the motivation to take care of himself better. 

It does nothing to help with the guilt and shame that swirls insidiously inside of him. 

A weight settles over his shoulder as Jun leans on him to peer at the app. Wonwoo refocuses on the screen. “Oooh, I say we get soy marinated crab,” Jun suggests, pointing at one of the restaurants listed in the app. “This place is pretty good.”

They end up ordering crab along with several portions of ramen from another restaurant. Wonwoo leaves Junhui and Seungcheol in the kitchen where they’re arguing over extra food to order and flops onto his small couch where Jihoon has already sprawled across. The shorter man lets out a grunt when Wonwoo settles on top of his outstretched legs.

“Ugh,” Jihoon says and wrinkles his nose in distaste. He doesn’t bother looking away from his phone screen. “Your ass is so bony, Jeon.”

Wonwoo sits his weight harder on Jihoon’s legs. “Deal with it,” he says maturely. The blue light reflects off of Jihoon’s pale skin, and he looks nearly translucent except for the dark shadows under his eyes. Wonwoo sympathizes; he shoves a bony finger in the spot right under Jihoon’s knee. “How’s work been?” 

The annoyed look on his face draws a laugh from Wonwoo, and he laughs even harder when Jihoon tries to swipe at him but misses. He doesn’t respond until settles back down, grumbling a little, as he scrolls absentmindedly down his phone screen again. “It’s okay.” Jihoon pauses for a few seconds before he resumes, “The AR team I’m working with is a bit nitpicky and indecisive, so that’s annoying. But the pay for this contract is really good.” 

It goes unspoken that Jihoon’s stressed out about it. Judging from the tired lines of his face, Wonwoo guesses he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in awhile—and probably won’t until he finishes the track to his and the company’s liking. Wonwoo briefly pats his knee, a sympathetic look on his face as Jihoon drops his phone onto his chest and sighs. “And you?” Jihoon asks him, looking up at Wonwoo with a scrutinizing look. “What’s going on with you?”

Wonwoo scrunches up his nose and shrugs, avoiding the question. When Jihoon’s expression remains flat and unimpressed, Wonwoo only sighs. “Nothing, really. It’s just the same thing. I’m tired.” 

Putting it into words never suffices. Wonwoo knows that everyone in this city, in this _country_ , is working to an indeterminable future of survival. Thriving seems secondary to simply working to exist, and Wonwoo is aware of his privilege in holding a corporate desk job in Seoul. It feels silly to complain so much when what he feels is hardly unique, nor particularly traumatizing in the grand scheme of things. 

Even with whatever family mess he’s been staunchly ignoring, Wonwoo knows he’s in a better place than most. 

It doesn’t stop him feeling like a sponge that has been wrenched and wringed dry. There’s something soul-sucking about the work hours, the expectation that he does all the work while his manager takes credit, the office politics, the voracious corporate executives who see them as profit more than human. If it weren’t for the promised promotion with a wage that would at least make the work feel worth it, he might be more tempted to just— _give up_.

Wonwoo doesn’t know what he can do about it. 

Silence falls between them, and Jihoon’s face softens almost imperceptibly. “You should take some days off,” he says, and he must be able to read the look on Wonwoo’s face because he adds, “You don’t have to visit your family. Take a vacation.” 

A wry laugh squeezes out of him. “I don’t know if that would fix anything, Jihoonie.” He hears Junhui laughing in the kitchen, followed by a stampede of footsteps from _God_ knows what him and Seungcheol are doing. Hopefully the unit below won't file a complaint. “That’s capitalism for you.” An echo of Junhui’s words to him. 

“Yeah, well.” Jihoon pulls his phone back up. The screen covers his face. “You deserve to rest too, you know.”

Wonwoo sighs again, feels the force of it rattling his lungs. A day off means another day that the work will pile up and he has twice the amount to return to once he’s back in the office. He already knows what Jihoon will say: that the work will always be there, and to take time off when he can. It’s not the end of the world to get away from it all sometimes. 

Instead of responding, he slumps back onto the couch, ignoring the empty protests from Jihoon when he jostles him. There’s no ready solution to a slow, protracted burnout that has slowly worn Wonwoo down, the gradual evaporation of energy that leaves him sunken and fatigued. Wonwoo wonders where his breaking point is, and whether he’s reached it yet. Whether he’ll know when he does. 

He drops his gaze and plucks at a worn hole at the knee of his jeans. Behind them, the increasingly loud voices of Junhui and Seungcheol fill the small apartment as they argue over something small and petty. The room feels warm, much warmer with the presence of his friends filling up the void and spaces of his home. Usually Wonwoo doesn’t mind being alone, but sometimes it’s nice to be surrounded by those he loves, and those who love him back. 

His mind wanders back to the acts of love, and warmer days. Jihoon’s words stick in Wonwoo’s mind, settling uneasily in the depths of his thoughts like a sunken anchor that tugs the weight of his worries down with it. Maybe he can afford a vacation, even if just a small one, and one far away from Changwon or Seoul. 

Just to get away.

🍜

It doesn’t take long to polish off the newest jar of kimchi, especially with the help of his friends on the night they ate dinner at Wonwoo’s apartment. 

The next Saturday finds Soonyoung knocking on Wonwoo’s door once again, like clockwork, just a little past noon. He tries not to think about the way he springs to his feet from his desk, heart skipping a beat at the sound. His hands quickly run through his hair, patting down flyaway strands as he hurries to the door. 

Wonwoo swallows as he tugs the door open to reveal Soonyoung standing in the hallway, his hands wrapped carefully around the familiar cloth-covered jar. His mouth curves at the sight of Wonwoo. “Hi Wonwoo-yah,” he says, smile broadening a little. “Happy Saturday! Have you eaten yet?”

He’s wearing an oversized knit sweater today with a beanie pulled over his hair. The tip of his nose and his ears are a rosy pink, but his smile is warm and vibrant. Wonwoo clutches onto the door handle with a tight grip, his heart lurching a little.

“Hi Soonyoung,” he says back, a little awkwardly like usual. “Not yet. I was going to try cooking some lunch in a bit.” He tries to sound more confident about it, but his hand runs through his hair and belies some of his anxiety. “Hoping I don’t burn my apartment down,” he adds wryly. 

Soonyoung brightens up. He perks up visibly, shifting to his tippy-toes before he rolls back on the balls of his feet. “Oooh, whatcha making?” 

“Kimchi fried rice,” Wonwoo admits a little embarrassedly. It’s a pretty basic dish, one of his go-to comfort foods that he associates with being in middle school and squabbling with Bohyuk over who would get the best part of the fried egg. He can make a barely passable attempt, but it’s never tasted the same as he remembers it.

“Yummy,” Soonyoung announces, sounding delighted. “I have a really good recipe for it—I swear by it—my friend taught me it. It’s _amazing_.” He practically vibrates with excitement, waving his hand in the air as he describes the optimal age of kimchi for fried rice. Soonyoung transfers the jar to the crook of his elbow and digs his phone out. “Would you want the recipe, Wonwoo?” He waves the phone a little in the air.

Wonwoo blinks at him, taken aback. When he doesn’t respond immediately, Soonyoung’s face dims a little and his hand falters. A bubble of panic wells up at the emerging hesitation on Soonyoung’s face, the set line of his mouth straightening out like he’s trying to hold back his excitement, and Wonwoo nearly trips over the words that leave his mouth in haste. “I would love it,” he blurts out. “I suck at cooking, anything would be helpful.”

He sucks in a breath when Soonyoung’s lips pull back into a small smile. “Ah, really?” Soonyoung glances down at the jar in his arms. The smile turns a little bashful at the edges, the curve of his cheeks flushing a light pink as he looks back up at Wonwoo. “I’m not that great either. But I promise this is a pretty easy recipe to follow.” He waves the phone in the air with a little shake of his wrist. “I’ll text it to you later. Promise.” 

The back of his neck heats up. Wonwoo hopes Soonyoung doesn’t notice the flustered look on his face. He casts his glance to the side, scratching at his jaw. Somehow, every interaction with Soonyoung feels unpredictable and unexpected. It’s a small gesture, but it’s thoughtful and surprisingly sweet. Wonwoo locks eyes with Soonyoung, hiding a smile behind his hand. “Thanks, Soonyoung.” He breathes out. His hand falls down to his side and the smile curves wider on his lips. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

For a moment, Soonyoung only stares at him, looking slightly stunned. Silence falls between them. His gaze lingers on the rosy flush that blossoms from Soonyoung’s cheeks to the tip of his ears. A strange squirminess worms its way into Wonwoo’s stomach, and he resists the urge to fidget. His heart pounds a little harder in his chest.

Soonyoung looks away abruptly. His gaze turns to the jar again. Wonwoo subconsciously follows him with his eyes, studying the fan of his lashes and the way they cast shadows onto the top of his cheeks. His stomach lurches. 

Another beat of silence. “Um— here.” Soonyoung offers him the jar, a sheepish look on his eyes. He leans forward a little. “Sorry, you probably didn’t sign up for a biweekly small talk session with your kimchi supplier,” he says with a tone that Wonwoo thinks might be self-consciousness.

He automatically takes the jar from his hands before his brain jolts back into action. “No, you’re— it’s fine. I—” He likes talking to Soonyoung, he realizes, but the thought is offset by embarrassment. All their interactions have ended this way, with Wonwoo awkwardly scurrying into his apartment to return the clean jar to Soonyoung. “It’s fine,” he repeats lamely. “Hold on, sorry—”

Backing into his apartment, Wonwoo grabs the jar and the payment like he has each time he’s met Soonyoung. An undercurrent of trepidation fills him when he recalls the note he stuck onto the top of the jar, the paper filled with his own handwriting. He had nearly forgotten about it. Briefly, he considers ripping it off, self-conscious of how it may come across, but he swallows down his own insecurities and returns back to the door where Soonyoung is waiting. “Here you go. Sorry again,” he says, and bites down on his bottom lip nervously when Soonyoung’s eyes land on the note.

He watches as his lips purse in confusion as Soonyoung takes hold of the jar. Soonyoung has an expressive face, Wonwoo notices, as his eyes scan over the note quickly. He can see the perceptible changes in his expression; from confusion to understanding, the small smile playing in the corner of Soonyoung’s lips growing wider until his eyes nearly disappear from the force of his smile. A sense of joy seems to radiate from Soonyoung, and in turn, Wonwoo shifts away slightly, his stomach churning itself into knots. 

“I just wanted to write a small thank you,” Wonwoo explains, toying with the sleeves of his shirt distractedly. He offers a tiny smile. “No pressure to respond, of course. It’s just— the notes, they’re lovely.” His heart thuds in his chest when Soonyoung looks even happier at that, grinning with an almost child-like sense of happiness in how pure it seems. Wonwoo tries to ignore it, pressing on, “If it’s not too much trouble, could you just let your grandmother know that? Just— just thank you.”

The smile on Soonyoung’s face fades slightly at his last sentence. “My...grandmother?” he asks. But he doesn’t sound offended—just slightly lost, like he’s unsure of what Wonwoo is saying.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says carefully, taking in the sudden confusion on Soonyoung’s face. He swallows worriedly. A quick apology forms in his mind, ready for if he had misstepped somehow, or crossed a boundary. “For her notes? And the kimchi?” Soonyoung frowns, adding to his growing worries. “—and you too, of course. For your hard work.”

Soonyoung tilts his head. “My _grandmother_ ,” he says, enunciating the word, “for making the kimchi and writing the notes.” His words are said in a tone that Wonwoo doesn’t know how to read. 

“Yes?” Wonwoo affirms hesitantly instead. He’s unsure of how to react when Soonyoung stares at him with a small dumbfounded look on his face. A familiar spike of anxiety runs through him. “Sorry, did I— have I crossed a line?” 

Soonyoung straightens up. “I— yes, sorry, my grandmother, right,” he rambles, combing a hand through his hair, “My— my grandma would be happy to hear that. I’ll, uh, I’ll be sure to let her know.” There’s a nervous energy to his words, almost inscrutable in how quickly Soonyoung is speaking. The corners of Wonwoo’s lips tug downwards. “I’ll— you’re a really sweet guy, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung adds, flushing a little. “I’ll tell her. Yeah.” 

He tries not to look doubtful. Wonwoo worries at his bottom lip, shoving his hands into his pockets so that he could stop fidgeting with them. “Are you— are you sure it’s okay?”

“O-Of course,” Soonyoung responds, maybe a little too quickly. He nods once, and then twice, as if to himself. “Thanks again, Wonwoo. I’m...I’m sure my grandma will appreciate your note.” It does little to dissipate his worries though when Soonyoung abruptly takes a step back with wide eyes. “Um, next time! I’ll see you— next time, Wonwoo— I have to— bye!”

And then he turns and beelines down the hallway, without so much of a glance back at Wonwoo. Even after he rounds the corner to the elevator, Wonwoo stands there, staring after him in confusion. It’s not until he hears the ding of the elevator that he shakes out of his reverie, retreating back inside his apartment, and lets the door close behind him with a soft snick. 

He stares at the new batch of kimchi that he had left on the counter in his haste, his mind still running over Soonyoung’s strange reaction. His heart beats apprehensively.

Wonwoo can’t help but wonder if he’s done something wrong. It’s not a good feeling.  
  
  
 _”Today was the first time in a long while that my dear friend, Seokminnie, came over for dinner. Contrary to what most people expect, he’s the one who taught me most of my recipes. Not for kimchi, of course, but everything else. He cooked for me and his partner, another friend of mine, today too, served with some of my favourite aged kimchi._

_My grandmother used to say that the kitchen is an extraordinary place, that we are not merely eating, but consuming an act of love. From the day we’re born, we are fed and we are nourished; this is an inherent act of warmth, love, and comfort. I remembered this as my dear friends and I shared our food—and each other’s companionship—together. This, too, is intrinsically an act of love; all in one gesture. I hope today’s kimchi can be shared with your loved ones too._

_Eat well and take care.  
\- Hyewon’s Kimchi”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been awhile, but here is the second chapter!!! i hope you have all been taking care these past couple of weeks. if i could give you a batch of hyewon's kimchi, i would too. sending everyone a lot of warmth and gentleness today ♥. thank you for reading, and i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any to share!!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tofufiower) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lgbtksoo)

**Author's Note:**

> the end of a first chapter! this fic will have about 7-8 chapters in total. i'll be updating this slowly!
> 
> thank you so much to phin, my lovely beta reader, for your insightful and supportive comments! i'm lucky to have you. thank you to all friends who have listened to me whine and complain about writing this fic since september! i love you all.
> 
> as a sidebar: this isn’t a story _about_ coming out, but it is discussed and grazed against within the story itself. please take care and tread as carefully as you need. i also wanted to acknowledge that while coming out is a part of this fic, it is meant to only portray singular experiences, as experienced by the people in this story. it is not intended to be didactic by any means; coming out happens on your own terms, and you do not need to come out to authenticate or fulfill your queerness.
> 
> let me know your thoughts ♥! 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tofufiower) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lgbtksoo)


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